Wild and White
by AlreadyPainfullyGone
Summary: With his brother deathly ill, Dean hunts down the one thing that could cure him - the horn of a unicorn. CRACK.
1. Chapter 1

"Poptarts?"

"Well..." Dean looks at the box in his hand. "Maybe they like sugar?"

"How about a sugar cube?" Sam fishes another box out of the trunk of the car. "Horses like them."

"We're not hunting a horse."

"A unicorn is just a gay, princess horse." Dean mutters, rooting around for another potential lure. "How about a candy apple?"

"Or just an apple?"

"It's NOT a horse." Dean snaps, slamming the trunk shut.

"Ok... So we just heap everything up in the woods, and wait." Sam says, raising his hands placating. "No need to bite my head off."

"Sorry." Dean dumps the boxes of food into a sack and hoists their net up onto his shoulder. "It's just...we need this to work out. We won't get a second chance."

Sam looks pensively at his brother.

"I know."

"But, if this doesn't work, we have other options."

Sam's eyebrows knit together. "No...we don't."

Dean looks down at the ground, refusing to acknowledge that Sam might be right. No doctor they had spoken to had been able to offer any kind of treatment plan, nothing that would cure the cancer that was growing in Sam's gut.

Demon blood was apparently the kind of addiction that just kept on taking, and years after Sam's last sip, the stuff was still wreaking his body. No chance of operating, no way chemo would help. There was no drug trial, no herbal remedy, no deal they could male, no magical cure – except the horn of a unicorn.

Sam opens the journal that he'd hastily stuck their research into that morning. The unicorn had been considered real until the 19th century, a supernatural creature of Europe with a horn that could cure sickness, and render poisoned water consumable.

Really, they only cared about the cure, and the fact that it had been sighted repeatedly in a forest near some fields in Illinois.

Sam had highlighted a passage written by Leonardo da Vinci himself – 'The unicorn, through its intemperance and not knowing how to control itself, for the love it bears to fair maidens forgets its ferocity and wildness; and laying aside all fear it will go up to a seated damsel and go to sleep in her lap, and thus the hunters take it.'

Being fresh out of virgins, they were prepared to lure the thing some other way - and deal with its legendary ferociousness the Winchester way – with guns, and a carefully set up system of nets.

(-*-)

_It wasn't a horse._

Dean held that thought in mind as he sat up through the night, hidden in a section of scrubby woodland, clutching a rifle and keeping watch on a pile of poptarts and apples.

Sam was doped to painkiller heaven in a pop-up tent a couple of hundred yards away. Dean hadn't wanted to leave him at a hotel, not in his condition. Sam had wanted to stay awake, but he was in a lot of pain these days, and even the short drive out to the woods had taken it out of him.

He needed the cure soon, or he wouldn't live much longer.

_It wasn't a horse._

Dean had seen a war movie once, where the soldiers had shot a bunch of horses because they were freaking out and making noise. It wasn't like he thought any horses had actually died, and not like he cared about animals in particular. But, he'd seen the worst of people in his time as a hunter, they weren't all bad, but they could really, really make you wish your weren't the same species as them. Animals were innocent – he'd never met an evil one.

Unicorns, he had to figure, were as innocent as it came.

And he had to shoot it in the head.

So, he tried telling himself that it wasn't the same as that movie. So he wouldn't have to feel bad.

He leans against a tree trunk, eyes blinking shut for a moment. No more than that. He needs to stay alert.

(-*-)

A hot breath down his collar wakes him up.

Dean jumps, and falls sideways into a tangle of prickly foliage. Two long white legs shuffle towards him, and something light falls onto his face.

Dean wipes at it. Poptart crumbs.

He sits up slowly and finds himself eye to eye with...a glowing, white, horse.

With a swirly twirly white horn, that gleams lilac in the moonlight.

The unicorn whinnies softly.

Dean's gun is cold against his fingers, and the unicorn is looking at him with big blue eyes, calmly waiting for him to produce more poptarts.

He's not prepared for the unicorn to slide to its knees on the forest ground, plumping it's head into his lap without hesitation, and closing its eyes.

Dena briefly considers yelling for Sam.

One look at that foot long horn convinces him otherwise. The thing could gore him in half a second.

Dean just sits, frozen, as the unicorn produces a grumbling noise and starts curiously licking at a patch of maple syrup that Dean had accidently spilt on his jeans at breakfast.

Dean cautiously lowers a hand to pet the unicorn's mane, which feels like...oh screw it, like _silk. _When the unicorn doesn't kill him instantly, Dean relaxes a little, and strokes the creature's fur gently.

"You know I'm not a virgin, right?"

The unicorn bobs its head in a nod, surprising him.

"So what's with acting like I'm unicorn-nip?"

The unicorn just looks up at him adoringly.

"O...k."

For a while they just sit with Dean's hands busily combing through the unicorns mane.

"Did you know your horn is magic?" Dean tells the unicorn eventually.

It sighs, lips producing an unimpressed sound.

"Yeah...I guess you would know." Dean strokes the pale, luminous fur gently. "Well...my brother is really sick...and we think your horn can make him better."

The unicorn closes its eyes.

"Sorry for bringing that up." Dean mutters.

When the unicorn stands up, it scares the crap out of him.

It shakes its mane out and trots away, imperiously, towards where the pile of poptarts had been. Dean follows, checking to make sure his handgun is still in its holster.

It's almost sunup, and Dean wonders how long he was actually asleep. The unicorn is amazing in motion, strong and slim and gleaming as the sun rises. It looks at him, jerks it's head irritably towards the trees, and then trots off, leaving Dean to follow.

He creeps through the woods in pursuit of the apparently unconcerned unicorn. As the sun comes up, Dean spots the mouth of a cave, and the unicorn leads him towards it. He hesitates for a second, caves were a bad deal – hunting wise – you never knew what was living in there, or how deep it went.

He follows anyway – this is for Sam after all.

The cave is actually quite shallow, dry and sandy floored. The walls are studded with vibrant purple and deep blue crystal clusters, scattered with gold deposits. But what surprises Dean more in the makeshift bed in the back, and the small shelf of tattered books, an expensive looking shaving brush, and a set of paints.

The unicorn beds down on the floor, and shivers, its tail, a long silky swatch of white threads, shrinks, and it's body loses its bulk as Dean watches.

He draws his gun, but, by the time he brings it up to fire, the unicorn is gone.

There's just a man in its place.

Dean lowers the gun halfway and continues to watch the man on the ground, even as he picks himself up and holds out a hand.

"You followed me here." He says, and he looks so grateful, so pleased, that Dean feels his reserve starting to leave him, despite the dangerous situation he could well still be in.

"You're not a unicorn."

"Of course I am." The man says gruffly, "You saw me."

"Unicorns don't turn into people." Dean tells him.

"Didn't know you were an expert." The man smiles beatifically to himself. "Technically I am a rare mutation of the breed."

"Which is?"

"A were-horse."

Dean just stares at him.

That's sort of when he notices that the guy is naked. He's not really one to notice naked men – his years of porn watching have kind of trained him to edit them out. Not to mention living with Sam, his Dad, and Bobby – any instances of 'the naked' were not for his memory to feast on.

But, the unicorn-were-horse-man is naked. He's as pale as he was before, practically glowing in the dim light. His hair is dark though, like he's gotten some human darkness back. His eyes however, are just as blue.

Dean keeps his eyes firmly above the equator though.

"Were-horses are rare themselves." The man says in a low voice, as if aware of Dean's reluctant scrutiny. "But, I was bitten – given the condition in an accident when I was camping...and now I am one of them."

"But you're a unicorn." Dean says slowly.

"An unusual mutation. Many think that unicorns respond to virginity – because we look so pure, and we arouse the best in people – their kindness and gentility. In fact, unicornism is a reaction of the were-horse condition, when it is given to a virgin."

"You're a virgin?"

"Yes."

Dean blinks. "What are you, like...thirty?"

"Twenty-nine."

"Uh...huh..."

The man sits down on his bed, plucks up a soft sheet of pale blue felt and wraps it carefully around himself. "You wanted my horn."

"I wasn't going to take it."

"Yes, you were."

Dean feels quite ashamed, without really knowing why. "Ok, I was."

"For your brother."

"Yes."

"Not for yourself." The man looks at him. "No one has ever tried to catch me, for someone else. It's always for...immortality, youth, to regain their purity...but, you want to save your brother."

Dean just looks at him.

"My name is Cas, I've lived in this forest for four years, and you're the first person I've spoken to." The man continues. "I'm sorry if I'm doing it wrong."

"I just, have no idea what's going on." Dean says, truthfully. "But I'm...Dean."

"I'm giving it to you, Dean."

"The horn?"

"What you came here for, yes."

"Won't that...hurt?" Dean asks.

"I suppose that's up to you."

"I'll be careful...how do you want to...you know..."

"Ummm..." Cas looks at him. "Face to face? If you don't mind?"

Dean pauses.

"What do you mean?"

"Well...if I am no longer innocent, I will shed my horn. Cutting it, will leave it without its power."

"So..."

"If I am sullied, despoiled, made worldly...I will revert to being a were-horse."

"So, this would involve..."

Cas looks up at him from his place on the bed.

"Sully me, Dean."


	2. Chapter 2

_By the way, don't forget to check out my new novel – there are links in my profile, and I'd love to sell a few more _

The fact that he doesn't even consider walking away says a lot about how much Dean loves his brother.

Because, Dean is straight. So straight in fact, that he makes a crow's flight path look slap dash, makes rulers look like corkscrews. Dean's heterosexuality is like the fucking sphinx – long standing and undeniable.

But, confronted with a naked man, and the ultimatum that, to get the mystical cure that is his brother's last hope, he has to venture into previously unexplored territory. Dean doesn't even pause to think.

For longer than say...fifteen seconds.

He presses his teeth together, as if reminding himself that they're still there, rolls his saliva backwards and swallows, setting his face into a firm non-expression. Then, he raises his hands and strips his jacket off mechanically. He starts on his belt, and looks up when he senses Castiel's eyes on him.

They're woefully sad eyes, like he'd rather Dean was actually planning to hack the horn off of his head.

"What?" Dean asks.

"I just..." Castiel hunches a little, almost imperceptibly. "I thought it would be different...after I'd waited so long."

"Well, pro tip." Dean mutters, standing on one foot to remove a boot. "First times? Pretty much suck."

"I realise that." Castiel sighs. "I was not waiting for a fairy tale...But, I expected a little more than...sullen resignation."

Dean feels his face colour. "It's not personal...I just don't...you know."

Castiel looks at him with his 'please continue' face.

"I don't bend that way." Dean elaborates.

"Ahhh." Castiel says.

Dean freezes with his boot in his hand.

"Does that mean..." he feels his stomach turn icier than the slush on a January street. "Do you not want to do this? Because I..." He catches himself, he doesn't want to beg.

"You need my horn." Castiel says quietly. "Your brother does, anyway. I wouldn't deny you that, for the sake of my feelings."

Dean drops the boot to the ground and stands there, one boot still on, belt open, feeling like a total asshole. Castiel was getting a pretty rough deal, getting him as his first time ever – and Dean knew he was lucky to be getting the horn that he needed to cure Sam – without so much as a demon deal or a pound of flesh having to trade hands.

Outwardly, he sighs, and takes off his other boot.

He looks up and finds Castiel watching him, nerves evident on his face, the felt blanket still drawn tight around him.

"Just...lie down, ok? I've got this." Dean promises, raising a hand to get Castiel to lie down. Surprisingly, Castiel does as he's told, even if he doesn't relinquish his death hold on the blanket.

Dean strips out of his shirt in one quick movement, tugging off his socks and sliding out of his jeans with rather less elegance, and getting quickly onto the bed next to Castiel, pulling one of the blankets over to cover himself.

Then there's a long, awkward silence.

Castiel takes a breath.

"Give me a second." Dean cuts him off, and Castiel remains silent.

Dean bites at the corner of his lip, looking up at the bejewelled cave ceiling. He can do this? Right? It's just sex, a different kind of sex, with a different kind of body, but sex none the less. He can feel Castiel's warm body weighing down the makeshift bed next to him. He can't pretend that this is normal for him. Castiel is a man – and that fact is not going anywhere. Dean hadn't gotten a good look (or any kind of look) at what Castiel had going on down below, but he was going to have to get very familiar with it in a second.

It felt a bit like preparing to stick his hand into a basket of snakes.

It couldn't be that difficult, could it? Dean knew more than enough about himself to work the same process from the other way round.

Even if this was going to get very off base very fast. If Castiel expected them to go 'all the way'.

Castiel shifts nervously next to him.

Dean breaths out deeply, trying to calm himself.

"Ok." He mutters. Then, "Ok."

He rolls over, one hand coming down on the bed on the other side of Castiel, the other ending up by Castiel's head. Dean closes his eyes tightly, and finds the smaller man's mouth more from luck than skill.

His thoughts, in order are -

Stubble – wrong.

Lips – chapped – wrong.

Hard body under his – Wrong.

Breathy MALE moan – WRONG.

Dean snatches his mouth away with a gasp, coming up for air and opening his eyes before he has time to veto the impulse.

Castiel is looking up at him, mouth rounded into a plump 'o' of surprise. He blinks slowly, breathes shakily, and then tilts his mouth upwards, hesitantly seeking another kiss.

Dean closes his eyes and goes in again, like a deep sea diver taking his last gasp of natural air.

After a while, he gets the rhythm of it down. It still feels as weird as trying to sleep on sandpaper, but at least he can zone out for a couple of minutes at a time. They stop every now and again, wetting their lips, taking in air, and after a while, Castiel gets up the nerve to reach up and put his hands on Dean's shoulders.

This freaks Dean out anew – strong calloused fingers? Wrong. Short nails? Wrong. Wide palms? Wrong. But he holds it together. They need to get this moving if he's going to get back to Sam in good time.

He wrangles his inner hysteria and moves on to kissing Castiel's neck – which raises another gruff little sound of pleasure. Dean drops one hand slowly to the other man's waist, then freezes as his mind is overwhelmed with unpleasantly unfamiliar sensory data. Castiel's hips and waist are not soft, which wasn't exactly expected – him being a _guy _and all. But there's other stuff that Dean hadn't even considered in his few seconds of consideration. There's more hair on Castiel's skin than on any waxed and plucked woman that Dean's been with. It's not gross, but, it's another red flag that this whole are is _not for him_. Castiel's skin is also rougher than he's used to – not dry, just, not scrubbed and moisturised, and whatever else women did to get themselves all smooth.

Castiel's whole body shifts, and Dean finds himself lying between his legs. His stomach jumps with nerves. A large part of his brain insists that there is no way, no how that his junk is going to touch another guys crotch. But it's only a thin blanket that is preventing just that.

Dean notices that Castiel is frozen, watching him. He raises one corner of his mouth into what he hopes is a competent smirk.

"So...this horse thing...that limited to your night runs?"

Unfortunately, the half baked innuendo earns him only a frown of confusion.

Dean shakes his head, mentally shouts 'Geronimo' and pulls the blanket between them aside.

_Eww. _Is his first thought. The sensation of his lower body, and all that that implied, pressed up against Cas's is far from pleasant. At least to start. But after a few seconds, once the initial shock of crotch to crotch contact has faded, he starts to vaguely appreciate the warm smoothness of it. There's a certain amount of softness too, at least on his side of things. Castiel is already mostly hard, and Dean risks sudden terrified paralysis to look down for a second.

_Horse indeed._

He almost whistles.

Castiel is already pink in the face, and when Dean glances up, he finds that the other man was also engaging in a little admiration of the sight below. It's quite an arrangement, their two cocks side by side, Dean's nothing to sniff at, despite not being the least bit aroused. But it's not anywhere near hot - at least not for Dean. It's just...weird, and naked.

Castiel moves slightly, and the brush of him against Dean makes the hunter close his eyes, to better to hold onto the sensation. Ok, he's only human. It felt good. No longer unpleasant. Just new. Even if his spine is still tense as a steel cable from the total unfamiliar _maleness _of what's happening.

Dean takes a deep, steadying breath. Inwardly he's half trying to remember what he knows about anal. Not much, unfortunately. It was time consuming, that he remembered.

He leans forwards, kisses Castiel again – and this time it's like his fifth cup of coffee, back when he'd just gotten into drinking it - he's no longer surprised by the unpleasant details, the unexpected stubble and shape of Castiel's mouth - he focuses on the rush, the closeness. It's not sexy, at least not to him. But it's...nice. Catching blindly at Castiel's mouth, _feeling. _

It's with conscious effort that he puts his hand down into no-man's-land, and there's no point trying to pretend that his fingers are encountering anything but what is actually down there. It's...mostly ok, once he gets used to it. It's a familiar feeling anyway, because he's done this to himself, what? Ten thousand times?

Castiel at least restricts himself to soft, breathy little sounds, and Dean's grateful because he could not deal with some guy moaning and groaning. Knowing what has to come next, Dean tries to picture someone, anyone that he's been with in the last few years. Or a magazine cover, bus bench add – anything to get the motor to turn over, if not run smoothly.

It's actually easier than he thought it would be. He's warm, and Castiel is quite comfortable to lie mostly-on-top-of, so there's that. He's got a centrefold in mind, and things are going pretty well until he gets over confidence, and rubs the backs of his fingers up under Castiel's cock, knuckle massaging gently under the head.

The growl this extracts, is so unexpected, that Dean snaps his eyes open. The sound already detonating in a hundred unexpected ways in his stomach, trailing molten debris downwards.

It's only then that he realises just how close his face is to Castiel's. How much the other man is clearly enjoying this, however guiltily – and, for no real reason, Dean realises that he'd quite like to kiss Castiel.

It takes him a moment to realise that he's allowed to. That in fact he's already done it quite a lot.

And then he does it again – feeling weirdly self conscious.

Castiel moves his head the wrong way, and their teeth bump, but the next time Dean tweaks his cock, Castiel has the grace to open his mouth, allowing Dean a moment to slip him the tongue.

If Dean had to fill out some kind of progress chart for the Guild of Unicorn Deflowering – he'd probably cite that as the moment things got interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

_By the way, don't forget to check out my new novel – there are links in my profile, and I'd love to sell a few more _

_Sorry for some of the spelling/typos – I just don't have the time to proof like I used to. _

It's easy to assume that you're never going to want something. That a concept or idea is never going to appeal to you. For example, Dean had always assumed that, like boybands, the perfect cake recipe and tax returns – penises were something he would never feel strongly about (his own being the obvious exception that proved the rule).

But, there's something about the way that Castiel moans and sighs as Dean feels his way around his smooth shaft, that's gratifying. He's gotten used to the slightly wet, soft skin in his hand, the way it twitches and how the crisp hair feels against his fingers. There's a rhythm to it now, and the way Castiel responds, awed and grateful, makes his stomach turn warm, his skin shivery. He likes it. It's Castiel's pleasure, but his to control.

When Castiel's fingers touch his, suddenly, Dean looks up, realising in that instant that his attention had been captured, held, hypnotically, by the wet tip of the cock sliding through his fist. There's thick, white pre-come on his fingers, and he is strangely calm about it, not needing to wipe it off _right now_.

Castiel, Dean can tell at a glance, is close. And that means...

That means it's time to move on.

He swallows, throat clicking dryly, stomach turning somersaults.

In nervousness.

Not anticipation.

Definitely not.

Dean sits up, kneeling between Castiel's legs, missing the heat of the body under his almost instantly. He notices that he's hard, almost surprised. Feels sweat cooling on his back. Castiel looks up at him, and Dean almost feels his eyes roving over his skin, all the way down the where his erections swells insistently against his stomach.

He's seen that look on the faces of countless others - desire, hunger...but never on a man before, and it gives him a kick of something new, a kind of...pride, a strength it didn't have before.

It's feeling less and less like he can't do this.

More and more like he _wants_ to.

_It'll be ok. Being inside a guy...it'll be...good? maybe? _

Not as bizarre as it first seemed to him. More and more it's the virginity thing that's bothering him. He's taken shockingly few V-cards in his life, choosing more experienced, all-round easier women to take back to the hotel rooms that he rented on a night-by-night, case-by-case basis. He wasn't good with virgins, couldn't handle the significance, the lasting memory that it would become, when it just didn't mean as much to him.

Still, this was going to be the memory of how he saved Sam. So, maybe it was even, for once.

"Do you have anything..."

He's barely got the words out when Castiel hands him a bottle of lube, which had been hidden under the make-shift bed. He raises an eyebrow and Castiel meets his eye with sudden confidence.

"I might be a virgin, but I'm not a monk."

Dean feels his mouth smirk without his consent. It is kind of funny. And at least Castiel is slightly more experienced than one or two of the girls he was with for their first times. He at least knows how his own body _works_.

When Castiel lifts his hand and offers it to Dean, it takes the hunter a second to realise what it is that the...christ, what the _unicorn_, is waiting for. He squeezes some of the lube onto Castiel's fingers, and watches, heart in his mouth, as he reaches down and spreads the clear gel over his skin. Dean's never seen a guy from this angle before, himself included. From this position, he can see the skin behind Castiel's balls, soft and sensitive, he knows from private experience. He reaches out unthinkingly and strokes it, one finger gentle on the skin. Castiel gasps quietly, fingers spreading himself, his body relaxing.

Dean glances down after a while, looking to where Castiel has thankfully taken the job of preparing himself as his own. Everything jumps – his heart skips, his stomach leaps, and his cock gives a low, tense, throb. Watching Castiel's slim finger sliding in and out of himself. It's impossible not to want that tight little ring of flesh around him. Impossible not to imagine it, and he groans quietly, hand reaching out tentatively. His mind leaps away from any consideration that this is a guy's ass that he's touching, lightly with the tip of his finger – all he feels is silkily intimate skin, and the warmth rolling off of it.

Castiel's finger emerges, rubs lube onto his own, and Dean thrusts in alongside Castiel, biting his lip hard at the feeling of hot, almost dry heat _seizing_ on his finger greedily, like a treat. Castiel's throat produces a higher, less placid sound, and Dean can't claim that his body is quivering with anything but lust now. He wants, with a single minded ferociousness. He _wants_. All of this, for himself.

Between the two of them, they manage to stretch Castiel to something approaching the right size for sex to be at least mostly painless. Nerves and need spiral through Dean's veins, and he's almost eager by the time the fateful moment arrives.

Castiel breathes heavily, deeply, as Dean lifts his thighs and arranges him at the right angle. It's different, new...and he doesn't care anymore. He hasn't it in him to care. Dean smoothes lube onto himself, and then, finally, looks down and slowly starts to push inwards.

It takes an age to get all the way inside, a long, shuddery amount of time that spirals away from him until all that's left is the feeling of it as it happens. Castiel is shaking, gasping, but reaching for him, pulling him close...and then, there's a moment of stillness, of muscles tensing and relaxing...

And then Dean starts to move.

There's an edge to it, his teeth are gritted, his body aches already, it feels rougher – expectedly animalistic. Still, the fluttering pulse and the rising and falling of Castiel's chest are somehow gentling, and Dean closes his eyes and allows himself to feel. To enjoy the moment for what it's worth, now that Castiel is enjoying it too.

The movement takes him by surprise, one moment he's concentrating on moving his body, thrusting into Castiel over and over again, heat and pressure clutching him again and again, the next second, Castiel twists, and with almost inhuman strength, pushes them over.

They tip, fall with a jarring thud, and then Castiel is on top of him, gripping the bed on either side of Dean's spinning head, riding him with abandon.

After than, all Dean can really do is hold on, push up, and take Castiel's cock in hand, lending a couple more volts of pleasure to the explosion building in front of him.

Castiel shifts, readjusting his weight, moves again, and suddenly each thrust downwards is a moan of pleasure, his eyes fluttering closed, body bowing forwards, forehead on Dean's shoulder. His orgasm shakes Dean over the edge, teeth nipping his shoulder, fingers clawing his skin.

When the hunter finally wrangles his synapses back into working order, he finds punch drunk, satiated eyes on his. A pair of soft, bitten lips that brush clumsily against his.

"Thank you." Comes out in Castiel's rough voice. "That...did not suck, as you told me it would."

Dean manages a low laugh, slightly hollowed by shock. "Yeah well...I think that was down to you."

Castiel nuzzles the side of his face, then seems to remember the arrangement, the bargain that they had struck. When he pulls away, Dean almost pulls him back. Almost.

The thing that brings him crashing out of his post-sex high is the glitter on his dick.

He blinks. But it's still there.

Lube, and glitter – red, orange...a rainbow of glitter, and some silver and gold there too.

"What the..."

Castiel edges away, a look of intense embarrassment on his face.

"Don't tell me...you..." Dean looks up at him. "Unicorns..."

Castiel nods shamefacedly.

Dean wonders if his Dad will personally rise up from the dead to kick his ass if he tries to add this to the journal – that unicorns (frigging unicorns) crap rainbow glitter.

Still, better than the alternative.

Another crash-land to reality thought.

Dean scrabbles back into his pants and is putting on his shirt when Castiel breaks the awkward silence and says,

"I will transform now."

"Ok...great, thanks." Dean rambles.

Castiel smiles slightly. "I meant what I said...thank you Dean...you were...surprising."

Dean actually has to look away.

There's a weird little pause, and then Castiel starts to transform, and for a horrible moment, Dean thinks that it didn't work – because Castiel grows, and glows, and looks like he's turning into a unicorn. Then, there's a small sound, like a sheet of glass cracking down the centre, or ice breaking in a thaw – and the light dims, goes out – leaving behind a black horse, with a white spot on his forehead where his horn should have been.

But there was no horn.

Dean looked down, and picked the pale spindle up off of the ground. It was light, airy as so much polystyrene.

It was also...squishy.

"Is this..." He looks at it more closely. "Dude, this is a marshmallow."

The horse gives him a look that says quite plainly, "Don't you mock my magic-horn-marshmallow. This is a serious gift.'

"So, I guess I'll get this back to my brother." Dean says.

The horse nods.

"You want to maybe...come with? He'd love you meet you, big ole nerd that he is."

The horse nods again, and practically prances from the cave. Happy as anything.

Dean's kind of glad, he wants Castiel to be happy.

Where the hell had that thought come from?


	4. Chapter 4

_By the way, don't forget to check out my new novel – there are links in my profile, and I'd love to sell a few more _

_Sorry for some of the spelling/typos – I just don't have the time to proof like I used to. _

Dean walks with Castiel back through the forest. Because the other man is currently in the form of a large black horse, there is no chance of conversation, awkward or otherwise, and for this, Dean is glad.

Castiel trots along beside him, companionable, but distant, and so Dean is left to have his crisis in peace.

He'd had sex, with a guy.

And it had been...good. Great even.

Possibly the best sex he'd ever had.

Which was saying a lot.

But...with a guy.

And around and around the thoughts went.

Shit, what did this make him? It was easy to say that he'd only done it to save Sam, that he wasn't gay, just doing a job. But, walking around with unicorn-ass-glitter on his dick _felt _pretty fucking gay.

He looks sideways at Castiel, then reaches out and pets his mane awkwardly.

"You know I'm freaking out, don't you?"

The horse snorts and nods it's head up and down.

Dean scratches him behind his ears.

"How come you're so easy to talk to, hey?" He rubs harder and Castiel turns his head to bump his soft, pony nose against Dean's face.

"You did not just horse-kiss me.' Dean frowns, but can't feel mad. "You must have some of that unicorn mojo left, because otherwise, I'd be mad at you."

Castiel neighs softly and trots off.

They reach the tent in good time, and Dean shakes it gently, calling out to Sam, who is still fast asleep.

His brother emerges, blinking and frowning into the light, and Dean almost laughs at the expression on his face when Sam sees Castiel.

"Dean...that's just a horse."

"No, it's a sullied unicorn."

Castiel makes a sound which could be described as a shamed sigh, and lies down on the leafy ground, wiffling his nose over half a poptart.

"...huh?" Sam says.

"Not important." Dean holds out the unicorn-mallow. "Eat this, I guess."

"Is this..."

"Fresh unicorn horn."

Sam blinks at him.

"You got it?"

"Seriously? You doubted me? Need I remind you who I am?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're going to say 'Dean Moherfucking Winchester' aren't you?"

Dean reaches out a ruffles Sam's hair, leaving him looking annoyed and kind of like a surly cat.

"I'm you're big brother, jerkface."

Sam raises a tiny, genuine smile. And Dean is suddenly so relieved that he found Castiel, that he came through for Sam.

That his brother is going to get better.

Sam eats the mallow-horn dubiously, as well he might, and Dean sits down heavily next to Castiel, breaks open a fresh box of pop tarts and scratches Castiel's ears as the horse munches happily on sprinkle covered icing.

"Thanks." He mutters, too quiet for Sam to hear, from where he's standing, saying that unicorn horn tastes like birthday cake.

Castiel whickers, and Dean strokes the white spot on his forehead.

"So...that's a unicorn?" Sam asks eventually.

"A were-horse." Dean tells him. "It's like being a were-wolf, only, some of them get a special mutation, and they turn into unicorns."

"How'd you catch it?"

"It came right up to me – that virgin stuff? It's a load of crap." Dean says, scratching his shoulder awkwardly. "Turned back into a regular guy, and I told him about you...and he said he'd help."

"Oh...well, thanks." Sam says to Castiel, clearly feeling guilty that they'd come here to kill him. He holds out his hand without thinking, and Dean is very surprised when the horse head in his lap, changes back into Castiel's human face, and he raises his hand to shake Sam's amiably.

"You're welcome."

Sam very pointedly does not look at the naked man lying next to his brother.

Dean passes Castiel a blanket from the tangled mess of them poking out of the tent.

"So, you're not a unicorn anymore?" Sam asks, still looking guilty as a puppy next to a pair of eviscerated slippers.

"No." Castiel says, looking neither regretful nor pleased. "When I ceased to be a virgin, I lost the purity that warrants unicorn status."

Dean actually feels his skin shrink in horror.

Sam looks at him, and then at Castiel, and then back at him.

"Dean?"

"The important thing to hold onto is – I didn't have to kill a unicorn." Dean points out. "And that we never have to talk about it again."

Sam opens and closes his mouth several times.

Castiel frowns. "You didn't want him to know."

"No."

"Sorry."

"That's ok – you can't help being a freak." Dean pats him on the shoulder sympathetically.

"Just like you can't help being insensitive." Castiel mutters, patting him back.

Dean grimaces.

"You ok?" Sam asks.

"My shoulder hurts." Dean glares sideways at Castiel. "Thanks for that by the way."

Castiel turns a very impressive shade of powder-green.

Sam looks away, neck burning red in embarrassment.

"Dean..." Castiel says, warningly. "I think...and I'm sorry...that I may have bitten you..."

"I know you did genius, that's why my shoulder hurts."

Sam looks up at that, and turns a greenish shade to rival Castiel's in terms of nerves. "He bit you?"

"Yes." Dean mutters.

"The _were_-horse, bit you?"

"Yes..." Dean looks up and his eyes clear in sudden, horrified, understanding. "...oh you sonofabitch."

"Sorry." Castiel says, quietly.

They sit in a tiny tableaux of awkward silence for a good long time. Finally, it is Dean who gets to his feet and claps his hands together.

"Right, well...that's about all the crazy I can handle today. Breakfast. Then research. Then drinking." He glares at Castiel. "Lots of drinking."

Castiel stands too, holding the blanket around himself.

"I should return to my..."

"Don't even think it." Dean cuts in. "Until we find out about were-horses, and how to cure them, you're the only info we have."

There's no way he's admitting that the instant Castiel stood up to go, he'd felt like a kid being left at college for the first time.

"There was a place a few miles back...I could go get us breakfast." Sam says, stiltedly.

"You sure?" Dean looks at him, and notices that Sam looks a lot less haggard, the pain that's been tensing his frame for weeks slipping away from him over the past few minutes.

"Yeah...I feel ok." Sam shrugs, but his eyes are so relived, so happy, that Dean grins at him.

Finally, something has gone right.

It almost makes it worth it, when, exactly a month later, he wakes up to find that he's shifted into a stunted, shaggy, brown pony with stumpy, crooked little legs and a barrel body.

Sam thinks it's hilarious.

Castiel, having long since grown out of his monthly transformations, spends the night rubbing Dean's coarse brown belly, and feeding him poptarts and apples.

In retrospect, Dean has to admit that keeping Castiel around was a good idea, and so what if breakfast had turned into lunch, then a three bed hotel room. Breakfast again. Clothes shopping. A two bed hotel room and a single, breakfast without Sam, and then a very awkward brotherly brunch.

It was nothing to freak out about.

He was a frigging were-horse.

Getting worked up about any other labels he'd acquired just seemed petty after that.


End file.
